


The Distance to Here

by secret_samadhi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x12, Coda, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Fix-It, M/M, Stuck in the middle with you, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9816125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secret_samadhi/pseuds/secret_samadhi
Summary: Castiel could walk it back.  Dean would let him.  But he doesn’t want to.  He’s tired of hiding.  He’s tired of not knowing what is allowed.  He’s tired of not knowing what is real.  He wants it all to be real.  He wants it to be real when Dean calls him ‘Sunshine.’  He wants it to be real when Dean looks at him, just looks at him, like he sees something inside of him no one else has ever seen.  He wants it to be real when Dean saves him, when Dean comes for him.  When Dean finds him in places no human should be brave enough or strong enough to follow.





	

** The Distance to Here **

They make it back to the bunker with no further incident.  Nothing dangerous, they are not accosted by any of the other legions of Hell, no demon, no witch, no creature assails them.  No one even says another word.  Sam drives the Impala, silent, glancing into the rearview frequently with concerned eyes, because Dean slid into the back seat, following Cas’ back with fingertips that just didn’t quite touch when Cas opened the car door and sloughed himself inside. 

Dean can’t stop looking at Cas.  Reaching out and touching him, his hand, his shoulder, the back of his neck.  Short little touches, like he’s afraid Cas isn’t real.  Or that Cas isn’t alive.  Touches that linger just a second longer than they might have before.  They linger the same way Castiel’s pinky finger lingered on Dean’s hand when Dean helped him up, in the barn.  Just for a second.  But a second that was real, that happened, and now these touches can happen, too.

Dean thinks that Cas might be annoyed at him for fussing, he has been before, in the past, _I’m an Angel of the Lord, Dean_ , but now Cas just looks so tired.  There’s almost nothing left of him.  The poison ate his body, from the inside out, and he spilled out his heart through his mouth of his own volition.  And now he’s just… empty.  His head rests tilted back against the seat of the Impala.  His eyes are closed.  His mouth is set in a neutral line, not angry, not peaceful.  Dean touches his shoulder again, and thinks that if he had a blanket, he could lay it over Cas, to keep him warm.  To take care of him.

He makes Sam pull over to the side of the highway.  There is a blanket in the trunk of the Impala.  It is grey wool, itchy, and stained with whiskey and motor oil.  But it is warm, and Dean can wrap it around Castiel.

He does.  He wraps him tight.  Cas doesn’t say anything, but he releases a little breath.  Just a little breath with a whine on it.  Like the touch of his little finger on Dean’s hand, it’s short, but it’s real.  Have there been touches like that, whines like that, before tonight?  Maybe.  But they were not real before.  They were coincidence, they were inebriation, they were the adrenaline that comes after a fight, they were a witch’s spell.  They were not real.

Now they are. 

Sam accelerates forward, into the dark.  Towards the bunker.    

 

*****

 

Dean follows Castiel to his room, still without a word.Castiel lets him.He doesn’t take off his trenchcoat, though it is still covered in blood, but he does loosen his tie.Just a little.

Dean closes the door behind them.  He puts his hands on his hips.  He drops them.  He starts to pace.  He does not look at Castiel.

Castiel closes his eyes and gingerly rests his head back on his pillow.  He waits. 

“What you said back there--” Dean starts.  His voice is so gruff.  Like he is trying so hard not to cry.  “You were dying.  I get it.  It doesn’t have to mean--”

Castiel interrupts him.  “I meant it, Dean, I love you.”  He could walk it back.  He knows that’s what Dean would do, is trying to do right now.  Make it less than it is, make it something different, hide from it, though it has grown so large and so bright between them of late that there are few shadows left to hide in, anymore. 

Dean tries again, “I’ve died a few times myself, Cas.  I know that when the light at the end of that tunnel is all you can see, you feel like you gotta get all the weight off your chest.  That you wouldn’t have, if--” 

Castiel interrupts again. “I meant it, Dean.  I love you.”  Dean’s mouth opens and closes.  “It means _more_ because I said it when I was dying, not _less_.  It means that I have lived since the beginning of time, and I could have said anything before I died; I could have prayed to my Father, I could have sung one of the songs of the angels, I could have made a blessing on the Earth or I could have judged the one that killed me.”  Castiel could walk it back.  Dean would let him, even now.  But he doesn’t want to.  He’s tired of hiding.  He’s tired of not knowing what is allowed.  He’s tired of not knowing what is real.  He wants it all to be real.  He wants it to be real when Dean calls him ‘Sunshine.’  He wants it to be real when Dean looks at him, just looks at him, like he sees something inside of him no one else has ever seen.  He wants it to be real when Dean saves him, when Dean comes for him.  When Dean finds him in places no human should be brave enough or strong enough to follow. 

Dean drops his head, and looks at the floor.  His voice is much quieter when he speaks again, and not nearly as gruff.  “Cas, what if I… what if I can’t?” 

Tears leak out of the corners of both of Castiel’s closed eyes, simultaneously.  They drip down his temples and pool on his pillow.  “You mean, ‘don’t.”  He doesn’t try to hide that he is crying.

Dean’s head snaps back up.  “What?  No!  What?  No, NOT ‘don’t’.  NEVER ‘don’t.  I do Cas, I do, with everything… everything I’ve got left.”

Cas’ tears keep falling.  A big ball of pain rolls up his throat.  Is it worse, if Dean doesn’t love him, or if Dean does love him but ‘can’t’?  He’s not sure, what is worse. 

Dean sees the tears and he sees that Cas’ face is crumpled and that is body is shaking now.  He rushes over to the bed and sits down next to Castiel.  He puts one hand on his shoulder.  “Cas, no” his voice breaks, “Cas don’t cry.  Don’t cry because of me.  I’m not worth it.” 

That makes Cas cry twice as hard.  Not worth it?  Dean is worth everything.  He _is_ everything.  If there were no Dean, there would be no world.  Not for Castiel, not for his heart, and not for any one else, either, in an entirely literal way.  Why doesn’t Dean see that? 

Why ‘can’t’ he love Castiel?  This question hurts so much, it doubles Castiel over, with a sob. 

“Cas!  Cas,” The hand on Cas’ shoulder grips tighter now.  Dean yells Castlel’s name, but his voice is a whisper when he tries: “What if I mess it up?”  He sounds so serious.  Completely heartbroken, like he has already messed it up a million times in his head and now he thinks he ‘can’t’ even try. 

Castiel opens one wet eye, and lays back agains this pillow, and looks at Dean.  What could he _possibly_ mean by that?  Dean let Lucifer occupy Castiel’s body, and Castiel forgave him, and still loves him.  Dean took away Castiel’s home, when Castiel was human and weak and had nowhere to go, and Castiel forgave him, and still loves him.  Dean stabbed Castiel through the chest with a knife when they met, and Castiel forgave him, and still loves him.  What has Dean imagined, that could be worse than any of that? 

Dean exhales.  “What if I have to decide between you, and the world, and I choose you?  What if you think we should kill the nephilim, but I think it’s just a cute kid?  What if the Darkness comes back, and I have to go to her, I wouldn’t want to, I wouldn’t ever, but what if I have to?  What if I forget who you are, again?  What if some fucking witch casts a spell on me and I disappear and you think I left you, when I’m right there, right fucking there, with you, forever, and you’re hurting?  What if you make me a pie because a hunt went wrong and it’s peach and I wanted apple and I snap at you and call you an asshole?  What if I’m too tired in the morning and you kiss me and I don’t kiss you back and you are hurt and you think it’s because you did something wrong?”

Castiel’s head tilts by degrees as Dean reels off these possibilities, so fast he’s barely taking breath. 

“What if I’m not good enough?  What if you realize I’m just an asshole?” 

“Dean,” Castiel says, his voice deep and heavy with tears.  He reaches out and touches Dean’s face.  “You would choose me?” 

Dean is crying now too.  His voice breaks when he says “Of course, Cas.  Of course I would fucking choose you.  I wouldn’t even think about it.  Fuck the world.”  He practically falls over, his feet still on the ground, but his chest now covering Castiel’s, shaking, his wet eyes pressed into Cas’ neck.  “Of course I would choose you.” 

Castiel strokes Dean’s back, carefully, with one hand, and thinks about what Dean has just said. 

“You would choose me,” Castiel repeats to himself, the ball of pain in his throat swelling up to fill his whole chest.  “Over the world.  How is that not good enough?  What more could I ever ask, from you?” 

Dean sniffs.  “Cas, I’m not, I’m not good.  You-- you’re so-- it’s like there’s this light around you, and it crackles, and its so pure, and your eyes--”

“The angels don’t think I’m pure.  They don’t think I’m good.  They think I’m ‘fallen in every way imaginable.’”

Dean sobs at this, and tries to rise away from Castiel, but Castiel wraps strong arms around him and doesn’t let him go.  “Because you touched me.  ‘Fallen in every way imaginable’, just because you touched me.  That’s what they said.” 

“Dean, no, that’s not what I-- I meant that I’m not good, either.  I’m not pure.”

“Cas--” Dean tries to interrupt, but Cas squeezes him and continues. 

“That’s not why you see a light around me. It’s not,”

“Cas,” Dean tries to interrupt again.

“I see a light around you, too, Dean.  It’s the same light.”

“You..what?”  Dean looks puzzled for a second, and he leans up, so he can look into Castiel’s eyes.  “Oh.  You.  Oh.”  It’s almost a whisper.  He looks away.  “Because you, you…”      

“You’re good Dean.  You’re so beautiful.  And you would choose me.  I love you.”

Dean hides in Cas’ neck again and cries harder.  Castiel lets him.  He lets him and he strokes his back, and he presses kisses into the top of his head, and he repeats “You’re good,” and “You’re so good,” and “You’re so bright”, and “You’re beautiful” over and over, under his breath, against Dean’s skin, until finally, finally, Dean cries himself out, and is still.

And into the stillness, Dean whispers, so quiet, so low, that Castiel almost might have believed he imagined it, “I love you, too.” 

But it’s not in Castiel’s imagination.  It’s _real._ Castiel holds Dean against his chest, and they breathe together, and their hearts beat together, in the silence, and it is _real_.

 

*****     

 

Castiel’s arms stay wrapped warm around Dean’s back.He holds, Dean, he just holds him.His love, his heart, his star.It’s so warm, and safe, and quiet.Dean can feel Castiel, and know that he is here, and whole, and healthy.He can see Castiel, and protect him, and take care of him.Castiel can wrap Dean in his touch, and not let go.He can hold Dean so Dean can feel that he is not alone.

It feels so good.  Why did they deny this, for so long?  It's so _easy._ It's not like jumping off a cliff, it's like sliding into a warm bath.  Dean toes his feet off the floor and rests one arm over Castiel’s waist, bends one leg over Castiel’s legs.  _Mine_ , he thinks, and squeezes Castiel tight.  _Mine, now.  Finally._

Castiel breaks the silence, then.   “I’m not sure why you think I would ever make you a peach pie.”  His brow furrowed, like he has been turning _this_ over in his head, of all that was said between them,  and its meaning has eluded him.  Surely, Dean realizes that Castiel knows him well enough to only ever make him apple, or pecan.

Dean huffs a laugh into Castiel’s chest.  “I dunno, for variety?”

“Would it really make you angry with me if I made you the wrong kind of pie?” Cas asks, solemnly, his hand combing through the honey strands of Dean’s hair. 

“Nah, Cas, I don’t think so.  If I got mad about that, I would really be mad about something else.” 

Cas’ eyes narrow.  “But how would I know what you were really mad about, if you said you were mad about the pie?” 

Dean’s head is pillowed on Castiel’s chest, but he raises up an inch to look at him.  “I think you’d probably be able to guess.” 

“But what if I can’t guess?”  Castiel presses, sounding very concerned.  Sometimes he _can’t_ guess what Dean is really mad about.  What if he can’t guess, and it means he doesn’t get to have this anymore, Dean’s leg draped over his thighs, Dean’s fingers tracing his ribs. 

Dean drops his head in a laugh.  “Then you have to ask.  But I probably won’t tell you, because I’m an asshole.” 

“Dean, you are emotionally guarded, but you are not an—“ Castiel tries to interrupt.

Dean puts a finger over Castiel’s lips to shush him.  Castiel looks down at it with crossed eyes.  “Then you have to ask.  And I probably won’t tell you.  So then… then, will you hold me Cas?” 

Cas’ eyes widen.  “Yes Dean.  Of course.”  He slides both his arms around Dean’s waist and holds him close.

“And then… will you kiss me?” 

Castiel gulps, but he nods solemnly.  “I will kiss you, then, Dean.  If that is what you want.”

“And then… will you let me kiss you back?” 

Csa’ breath has started to get heavier, and his eyes are dilating.

“Yes, Dean.  I always…. yes.” 

“If I’m mad I might bite at your lips.  I might push your hips up against the wall, or against the Impala, and I might bite your lips and your neck and grind myself against you and show you that you’re mine.  Because that might be why I’m angry.  Because I might be afraid that you’re not mine, any more, not all mine, like you are right now.”

Castiel nods.  “But I’m always yours, Dean,”  Can Dean not know that, even now?

Dean nods, too.  “Then I might be mad because the world is so… because everything is always so fucked up and everything always goes wrong and I can never save everyone, no matter what I do.  And then I might kiss you like i’m trying to find my heart again in your lips.  I might kiss your eyelids, and your cheekbones, and your jaw, and I might hold your face in my hands like it is the only thing left in the world that is precious.  And I might rest my eyes in your neck and just… hold you.” 

Castiel nods again, bravely.  “I will hold you back, Dean.  When the world is cruel to you, I will always hold you back.  I promise."

Castiel shivers as Dean’s lips ghost over his neck, the base of his jaw, then. 

“Can I kiss you now, Cas?  For the first time?” 

Castiel shivers again.  “It’s not the first time,” he whispers, and Dean pulls back, trying to remember, was there some spell, some djinn, but Castiel continues, “I imagined it so many times.” 

Dean smiles.“Me too, Cas.Me too.But this is the first time it’s _real_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Forever :'( from this episode. Oh Castiel, you, poor, beautiful, sweet angel. I love you so much.


End file.
